


livsnjutare

by azirafelle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azirafelle/pseuds/azirafelle
Summary: livsnjutare(n.) one who loves life deeply and lives it to the extreme





	livsnjutare

Aziraphale wasn't, strictly speaking, afraid to _love_  Crowley. He did harbor certain reservations, but relatively small ones. There was nothing wrong with selfless love; the pouring out of oneself for the benefit of another. The ability to put another's needs before your own, no matter the cost. No, Aziraphale wasn't afraid of that. He had known for a long time, perhaps since the beginning, that he would always seek out the good for Crowley - even if what was good for a demon was different than what was good for an angel. 

What Aziraphale feared was  _wanting_  Crowley. Not that he feared lust, specifically, but he feared the selfishness that comes with romantic partnership. He feared the pleasure of running his fingers through Crowley's hair, taking delight in the rich flashes of auburn and red. He feared looking into Crowley's eyes, breath catching up on the sharp mystery of those golden pools. 

_Love_  wasn't a sin, but _hedonism_ was. It was something Aziraphale had danced with guiltily since the beginning of time. He could catalog in his mind the pleasure of each food; from the early fragrance of a fig, soft, gentle, delicate, refreshing, to the silky undertones of a chocolate mousse, suffocating, overwhelming, seductive. 

With food, selfishness could be shoved away to a little corner in the back of his mind and plausible excuses could be made. To fit in with the humans, to empathize with them, to understand the temptation of gluttony. But with another entity; with a demon? No, that desire was entirely his own. He wanted to see Crowley asleep on a Saturday morning, peaceful, splayed out across crimson silk and barely shrouded. He wanted to touch Crowley's hand, marveling at the hot blood that beat underneath, gasping, burning. He wanted to smell the demon's cologne, mingled with sweat, and champagne, and sulfur, he wanted to smell it on Crowley's neck, on his lips. He wanted to hear Crowley's voice, low, heady, raspy, hissing, whispering  _'Angel'_  at midnight, under the stars he'd cast, stars in his eyes, constellations lighting up over passionate words, barely there, honest. He wanted to taste Crowley, to catalog how he might squirm and shudder under his mouth. 

It was this that had tied Aziraphale's hands behind his back and his tongue up in knots for millennia. The fact of the matter was that he didn't just love Crowley in the pure unadulterated way befitting angels; he loved Crowley also in the human way, hedonistic, desiring, worshiping, wanting - Oh, God,  _wanting_. 

But the end had come and gone, hadn't it? There really was no time like the present, because the present was yawning out to the horizon, seemingly endless. 

\--- 

It was the twenty-third day of the rest of their lives, and Aziraphale had made a decision. He hoped it was a good decision, but he wouldn't know until after it was all said and done. 

He paced the shop nervously, awaiting a certain jingle on the doorbell and a certain pair of sunglasses. Oh, damn those glasses. If it were up to him, he would do away with them forever. 

Finally, finally! It had felt like ages waiting, his heart caught up in his throat and strange ethereal things fluttering in his stomach. 

Crowley walked in, smooth like a cat, all legs and black. 

"Well, you look like someone just bought a book. Everything's all right, angel?" 

Aziraphale spluttered nervously, clasping and unclasping his hands. 

"Ah, yes, just that. You know how I get about these things, just being silly. It was a first edition, I'm afraid." He laughed, strained. If he'd been able to see behind the glasses, he would have seen snake eyes narrowing suspiciously at him. 

"Right, okay. Uh, you good to go, then? Reservation's at four." The demon was lounging against the counter, an elbow on the surface and his chin in his hand. 

"Quite, dear." Aziraphale's voice had gathered some of its composure and he held the door open for Crowley to follow him out. 

\--- 

The restaurant was a modern, minimal affair, with high white ceilings and exposed beams. Crowley might be here for the coolly trendy decor, but Aziraphale was not. He was here to say something, or to do something, he wasn't quite sure which. 

He looked at the menu for far too long, too quietly. 

"Alright, you gonna tell me what's up, angel? You've been reading the same thing for five minutes. I  _know_  it doesn't take you that long to pick an appetizer." Crowley slouched back in his seat, pulling his glasses down a bit and studying Aziraphale over the rims.

The angel cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Ah, well, you see - there was something I rather wanted to talk to you about." He paused. "Well." Another long pause and the demon interrupted him. 

"Yeah? Well?" His voice betrayed a bit of sharpness; not angry, but insistent. The demon was beginning to lose a bit of patience. 

"Right." The angel looked flustered; he had put down the menu and forgotten what to do with his hands. His face was starting to feel a little too warm and he shifted uncomfortably. He continued. 

"I was thinking I should like to spend more time with you. In a way. In many ways, rather. Crowley, I -" Aziraphale paused, his worried expression mixing with a deep fondness that had been there all along, waiting for the right moment to make an appearance. "I think there's something you ought to know, us being best friends and all. I  _should_  have told you, so, so long ago, but - I was a coward. I was frightened. And however you respond now, I'll understand." 

The demon's eyebrows were raised impossibly high on his forehead, knit together in the center. His mouth hung open just a little and it would have been a comical sight to Aziraphale if he had any of his shit together at all. He did not, in fact, have any of it together. 

"Uh, Aziraphale, you're gonna have to tell me what you're talking about here 'cause I don't think I follow you."

"I'm in love with you. Properly. Not just because I'm bound to love. There's a difference between loving and being in love. And I feel both for you. Always, maybe. For such a long, long time." There was a quietness to the angel's words, a softness and a resolution that the thing had finally been said. For better or for worse, the truth was known and that was of itself a good thing. 

"Interesting. Good to know, that. You know, I'm not feeling all that hungry. Mind if we postpone? I'll drop you at the shop." Crowley's tone was guilelessly chipper, as if he hadn't heard a word the angel had said. 

Aziraphale just stared for a second. He felt something like dead inside, but he couldn't know what death felt like. Right now, he imagined it would be a blessed relief. 

\--- 

Much to Aziraphale's surprise, Crowley got out of the car when they pulled up in front of the bookshop. He followed the angel into the store, and Aziraphale didn't have the energy to comment. He'd give Crowley a cup of tea and send him home. Or so he thought. 

The thought of hanging up his coat had just crossed his mind when Crowley grabbed him roughly by the shoulders, slamming him against a bookcase, which remained miraculously still despite the impact. 

"You stupid,  _stupid_  angel. You  _idiot_. Do you know how long? How long I've waited?" His voice was low and passionate and trembling and Aziraphale shuddered at the sound. The demon's hands moved to tug on Aziraphale's coat, letting it crumple to the floor. Then he ripped off the sunglasses, breathing heavy, his face not an inch away from the angel's. He spoke again, his voice softer this time. 

"I have been in love with you - your stupid face since you told me you gave away that goddamn sword." 

Aziraphale thought Crowley might have continued, but it didn't matter, because he wrapped a hand in Crowley's hair, pulling a little, and kissed him,  _indulgently._

**Author's Note:**

> Trying for a flowier, more descriptive style! Comments are loved <3


End file.
